Stir It Up (11 page)

4. Bake covered for as long as it takes to be cooked through and release a satisfying aroma. Serve sprinkled with hope, as desired.

Once again I find myself in the greenroom at the Food Network studios. They’ve put me in another stupid yellow T-shirt. I really don’t want to be here filming the reveal of who won the contest.

Only Deema’s come with me this time. Mom had to work. It’s just the two of us in our own greenroom. The other contestants have private rooms, too. I guess they don’t want us talking to each other before the show, so we can act surprised. I don’t see how the other loser can act surprised, just like I don’t know how I can. This will be a real test in faking it. All I want is for today to be over.

They just finished doing my makeup. In the mirror I look all caked up with foundation and lipstick.

A production assistant pokes his head in the room. “Okay, we’re ready for you.” Deema and I follow him.

When we get to the studio, there’s a big sign —
Super Chef Kids
!

Brooklyn and Randolph are already there, each
standing on a little platform of their own. There’s a platform left for me.

I take my place and pull in a deep breath. Brooklyn gives me a finger wave, and I do my best to smile at her. Randolph gives me a thumbs-up.

Brenda walks onto the stage. “Okay, kids. We’ll begin in five. We are going to show some footage of you cooking from your two tryouts, then the judges will announce the winner.”

We all nod.

Someone on the set calls out, “Ready in five, four, three, two, one!” He points at Quade, who is in his place, smiling.

“It’s the part of the show we’ve been waiting for, folks, when we learn who is the first-ever
Super Chef Kids
winner! We have our judges …”

He introduces the judges, then the three of us, saying our names and where we’re from. Next, they break for a commercial, even though this is not really live television.

“I’m Quade Jerome, coming to you from the Food Network studios in New York City,” he says when we come back on the air. “We’re here to reveal the
winner of
Super Chef Kids
! Let’s see what these kids can do.” He turns toward a massive screen behind us. We have to turn to look, too.

They start by showing Brooklyn at her first tryout, racing around, dropping some stuff, cooking. In between scenes of her cooking, they show scenes from her interview, where she says things like, “Cooking is what calms me, it’s my Zen.” The camera then cuts to the judges tasting her food and making comments.

There’s a commercial, then it’s my turn to be humiliated. It’s pretty much the same drill for each of us. I wince when I see my interview because I look and sound so stupid. I say, “When I’m a celebrity chef, Caribbean food will be the hottest food around.” Ugh! That sounds so preachy.

After they show Randolph’s footage, Quade says, “And we’ll be back with the winner after this break.”

I’m getting tired from standing. I sit on the step behind the little platform. Brooklyn and Randolph do the same thing. None of us speak to each other. Somehow we know we aren’t supposed to, I guess.

There’s a countdown. We all get to our feet, back on the platforms. “And now, it’s time for the judges’ decision,” says Quade.

The judges step forward in front of us. First is that bubblehead, Sam Vitelli.

She turns toward Brooklyn. “This kid chef worked really hard, made some elegant dishes, and really held it together,” she says. “But there was something missing, a certain creativity and pizzazz. Brooklyn, I’m sorry, you’re going home.”

Brooklyn nods and smiles weakly, giving a wave to the judges and the cameras. She steps down.

I swallow. So Randolph’s the winner. I try to play poker face.

Connor Sebastian steps forward next. He’s looking at me.

“This young chef showed serious spirit,” he says. “No matter what the odds were, this chef kept going. But the food wasn’t always approachable and didn’t stretch out of a certain comfort zone.”

He gestures in my direction. “Anjali, I’m sorry, you’re going home.”

I turn to Randolph and smile as brightly as I can, then hold out my hand.

“Congratulations!” I say. Randolph looks at me, totally surprised. Maybe he didn’t know.

“Wow, uh, wow! Thanks!” He looks dazed. Then suddenly he shakes his head. “Yes!” He raises his arms up in the air.

Chef Daisy steps forward. “Well, the secret is out! Congratulations, Randolph!” She has to stop because he’s whooping and hollering so loud. I step away quickly and walk down the platform toward Deema.

“You were inventive and showed great skill for someone so young,” Chef Daisy is saying behind me. “Congratulations on getting your own show. I look forward to sharing a stage with you!”

A woman I assume is Randolph’s mom races past me with a little girl. They run onstage and hug Randolph like he’s just won a game show. They’re all jumping up and down and dancing around the set.

I can’t move. I’m supposed to walk off the set now,
but my feet won’t let me. All the cameras are on Randolph, so nobody can see my makeup melting under the hot lights. Why can’t I get over this stupid contest? It’s over. Period. I tried and lost. I look for Deema, but she’s disappeared.

Brenda comes to where I am and gently leads me back toward my greenroom. “You’ve got an entourage,” she says.

I’m not even halfway down the hall when I see them all lined up in black Island Spice T-shirts from our roti shop — it’s Deema, Linc, Anand, Nyla, Mom, and Dad.

They’re holding a huge sign that says
POW
! Anand tosses an Island Spice T-shirt at me. “Put this on so people know you’re my sister,” he says.

I slip the shirt on over the yellow shirt from the network.

Everyone gathers around me. Like Randolph’s family, they’re jumping and whooping, and they’re chanting, “Anjali’s got
POW
!”

“Guys,” I say, “I didn’t win, remember?” I’m giggling.

Linc says,
“Pow
is not about winning — it’s about being you.”

We all crowd back into the greenroom, where Nyla has a tray arranged with a pitcher of ginger beer and some sweet
prasad
for all of us to eat.

We crowd into the small room, and somehow we all manage to fit.

“You know, Anjali, we have a saying in Trinidad,” Deema says. “ ‘One, one cocoa does full basket.’ Do you know what that means?”

I sip some ginger beer and shake my head.

“It means that it may take a long time to fill a big basket with cocoa beans, but eventually, if you keep at it, you’ll get there. All this is part of that,” she says, gesturing around the greenroom. “This is a great learning step. More steps like this will, one by one, get you where you have to go — wherever that may be.”

After Deema finishes talking, Mom presses the play button on the iPod speakers she’s brought with her. The sounds of David Rudder fill the tiny room as he sings about the hot, sweet joy of island life. Dad gathers me in his arms. He kisses the top of my head. “Sweet Anjali. You make a father happy.”

I read the e-mail through one more time before I hit send, then sit back in my chair. The smell of the curried mango that Deema is making for the family seeps into my room from the kitchen. I take a deep breath and stretch.

8 ounces fresh ginger, peeled and grated on the large holes of a box grater

2 tablespoons fresh lime juice

1/4 teaspoon ground mace

1 1/2 cups light brown sugar

12 cups water

1/2 vanilla bean, split lengthwise

6 sprigs mint for garnish

1. Put the ginger, lime juice, mace, and 1 1/2 cups of the light brown sugar into an 8-quart pot and add 12 cups of water. Bring to a simmer over medium heat.

2. Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean into the pot and add the pod.

3. Stir until the sugar dissolves. Remove from heat and set aside to cool.

4. Pour the cooled ginger mixture into a widemouthed gallon jug to steep. Cover the jar tightly and refrigerate for 1 week.

5. Strain the ginger mixture through a fine-mesh sieve into another widemouthed gallon glass or ceramic jar, firmly pressing on the solids with the back of a spoon to extract as much flavor as possible. Discard the solids.

6. Serve in glasses over crushed ice, garnished with mint sprigs. Ginger beer may be stored in a sealable glass jar, refrigerated, for up to 2 weeks.

Makes 8 to 10 eight-ounce servings.

2 cups ghee (clarified butter)

1/2 cup golden raisins

2 cups farina

2 cups whole milk

3 twelve-ounce cans evaporated milk

4 cups sugar

1 teaspoon peeled and grated fresh ginger

1 teaspoon ground cardamom

Raisins, grated fresh coconut, coarsely chopped almonds, and a few cooked chickpeas, for garnish

1. Heat all but 2 teaspoons of the ghee in a large, deep frying pan. Add the golden raisins and fry over medium-low heat until they become plump.

2. Add the farina one-quarter cup at a time, stirring constantly, until it becomes light brown.

3. While the farina is toasting, in a separate pan, combine the whole milk, evaporated milk, sugar, ginger, and cardamom. Bring just to a boil, stirring constantly. Remove from the heat and add the milk mixture to the farina mixture, one-quarter cup at a time, until the
prasad
forms semimoist clumps.

4. Remove from the heat.

5. Heat the remaining ghee in a small frying pan, and add the raisins, coconut, almonds, and chickpeas. Fry until the raisins are plump, about 30 to 40 seconds. Stir while frying. Garnish the
prasad
with this mixture.

Makes 4 to 6 servings

5 cups togetherness

4 pounds hard work
ambition as needed
equal measure of reality
liberal sprinkling of joy
satisfaction for finishing the dish

1. Put the togetherness and hard work into the large bowl of a food processor. Pulse evenly until well combined.

2. Remove the mixture from the bowl and knead lightly. Roll out into a large flat round that covers the entire work surface.

3. Walking around the table, spoon big dollops of ambition on the surface of the round. Spoon out enough reality to match ambition equally.

4. Sprinkle liberally with joy and allow to sit for a few days.

5. Garnish with just enough satisfaction to sweeten, and serve generously.

With the exception of my friend and colleague Chef Daisy Martinez, the characters and places in this tale are fictional. However, readers familiar with New York City, particularly Manhattan and Queens, will recognize the terrain of Richmond Hill, the Indo-Caribbean neighborhood where Anjali lives; Forest Hills, where she goes to school; and Manhattan’s Chelsea, where the Food Network is located. Certain locales such as Chelsea Market, Stuyvesant High School, and the Institute of Culinary Education are, in fact, real places. While the entrance exam to Stuyvesant High School, or Specialized High School Admissions Test as it is more properly called, is a real event, I have taken liberties with the time the test is given for the purposes of the story. The other characters and events in this story are entirely fictional and bear no resemblance to real people, though I hope readers will find some piece of themselves in this story. Some recipes appearing here were originally published in
Sweet Hands: Island Cooking from Trinidad & Tobago
(Hippocrene Books, © Ramin Ganeshram 2006; second edition 2010).

The greatest measure of my thanks goes to my editor, Andrea Pinkney, who saw the potential of this story when it was only a germ of an idea and whose boundless excitement for this work has kept me going full steam ahead. Thank you to my blood brother, Ramesh Ganeshram, and soul brother, Darrel Sukhdeo, for being careful readers and energetic cheerleaders. My gratitude is endless for my tireless agent, Michael Psaltis, who often sees the path clearer than I do. Many thanks to Chef Rob Bleifer, the captain at the helm of Food Network’s test kitchens, for giving me the tour and chat that enabled me to write the in-studio and contest scenes in the book. What can I say about my friend, and one of my own culinary heroes, Daisy Martinez, for agreeing to let me make her a character in this book? Thank you a million times, Daisy, for all you do and for being who you are.

Gratitude to my husband, Jean Paul Vellotti, for believing in my work. Speaking of champions, no one is a greater cheerleader than my dear friend Monica Bhide, from whom great things always come.

Most of all, an infinity of thank-yous to my sweet daughter, Sophia Parvin Vellotti, for being my reason and passion to write and live.

Ramin Ganeshram
has written for many publications, including
The New York Times, National Geographic Traveler,
and
Bon Appétit.
She is the author of the cookbook
Sweet Hands: Island Cooking from Trinidad and Tobago. Stir It Up!
marks her children’s book debut. She lives in Westport, Connecticut, with her family.